


When Everything's Made To Be Broken

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28783566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: It seemed as if Jon had entered some sort of trance, his eyes frozen on the wall, his fingers curled into the palms of his hands. He took a deep breath, and it shuddered on the way out. "Some things, you don't ask about." Jon finally said after what seemed like forever. "This is one of those things, Rich."
Relationships: Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	When Everything's Made To Be Broken

_"Richie? Are you sure that you wanna do this?"_

_"What are on about? Five minutes ago, you were hanging off of me like a monkey, and now you're all nervous and shit?"_

_"It's just - are you sure? Like, one hundred percent sure?"_

_"Yes, Jon. I'm sure."_

_\--_

Things had changed, more so than Richie would ever be comfortable admitting with any clear certainty. He had released his own albums, branched out on his own, experienced the world in all its terrible and beautiful glory. He had answered questions that he'd had since he was a child. Life had treated Richie well, he had to admit. 

But he still harbored one questions - simple as it might've appeared at first glance, but Richie could feel his anxiety pile onto his heart like snow on a distant mountain. His fingers slipped, and a dull note echoed through the quiet room. 

From across the room, Jon had abandoned his notebook, and was now tossing a ball toward the wall, where it bounced back into Jon's awaiting hand. He looked lost in his own world, and Richie had no doubt that, if he didn't say so much as a word, then Jon wouldn't, either. 

The night could pass in silence, and nobody would be any the wiser about what was going on within the confines of Richie's mind. He could forget all about it and pretend that he had never thought about it in the first place. But he didn't want to.

Richie knew that curiosity killed the cat. But could the canary get the cream at the same time? He didn't know, and he was about to find about. 

"Hey, Jon?" Richie's voice shook on the way out, and he hated it, how cowardly such a simple question could make him feel. 

But it was rightful, after all. Jon looked up, strands of hair caught in front of his placid eyes. "Yeah?" He caught the ball, aimed it, and tossed it at the wall again. 

"Well. I have a question for you." Richie scratched the back of his neck. "Do you remember when we first got together, and you started acting, I dunno, odd? And you kept asking me if I was sure about wanting to do it?" 

Jon tossed the ball but he didn't catch it. The ball bounced and landed beside the bed in an almost sad, dejected manner. Jon's gaze remained centered on the wall, plain and cold. 

"And then later that night, you didn't let me touch you, like, at all? You locked yourself in the bathroom." Richie looked down at his guitar again, stroking his finger along the fretboard and feeling the smooth wood underneath his touch. 

The air in the room suddenly became filled with thick, heavy tension, and it became hard to breath. Richie's fingers stilled, and he looked up when the only response that he got was silence, cold and afraid, like that of a man who had been walking down an alleyway and had been greeted with a knife. 

It seemed as if Jon had entered some sort of trance, his eyes frozen on the wall, his fingers curled into the palms of his hands. He took a deep breath, and it shuddered on the way out. "Some things, you don't ask about." Jon finally said after what seemed like forever. "This is one of those things, Rich." 

And then Jon stood up, his body tense as he walked into the bathroom and shut the door with enough firmness that Richie felt like a scolded child as he sat there, unsure. 

Richie sighed, his fingers drifting over the strings, but he didn't have any more inspiration. 

\-- 

Darkness fell over the pale blue sky like a blanket. Richie lay in bed, hands folded and eyes closed, but he wasn't asleep and likely wouldn't get any sleep. Not that night, anyways. 

Forever seemed to pass, but it had roughly been two hours of tense silence. Jon hadn't left the bathroom - whatever he was doing in there was a mystery, and, left to his own devices, Richie felt like something was going on that he didn't have even the slightest clue about, and he didn't like it. 

But yet, Richie lay, the darkness feeling like it was about overwhelm and swallow him like a shark and a tiny goldfish. 

There was a faint creaking noise, and then slow, quiet footsteps. The other side of the bed sunk. The blankets rustled. Richie could feel a cold body pressed up against his arm. "Jonny?" He whispered. 

"I'm sorry." Jon said. "I shouldn't have left - it wasn't fair." His breath puffed up against Richie's neck. 

"Why, though?" Richie asked. 

A flicker of silence. Jon buried his face against Richie's neck, as if to hide himself from the world and whatever - or whoever - wanted to hurt him. "When I was a kid, well, more like teenager, but same general circumstances...I was involved in some bad shit." He said quietly. 

Richie frowned, and he opened his eyes. "What bad shit?" He asked, wondering why he'd even opened his mouth in the first place. "Jonny. Hey. You know that after everything we've been through, I'm not gonna judge you." Richie was stroking Jon's back, feeling his spin underneath every touch. 

"Not drugs. Nothing - just some - _things_ with the ladies of the neighborhood." Jon mumbled, sounding ashamed, terribly so. "I mean, I guess that I didn't, um." For somebody who was usually articulate, Jon bit his hand, as if to keep himself from saying something that he'd regret. 

From the deepest depths of his soul, Richie felt like his insides were covered in bitter ice. He sucked in a breath, unsure of what he was supposed to say or do, if he was even supposed to do any of those things. ' _What the fuck? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK??? Jesus Christ, Jonny. I should've left well enough alone. I shouldn't have made you dredge all that terrible shit up. WHAT THE FUCK??'_

Jon clutched at Richie's hand. "Please don't make me talk about it. I just want to forget. I'm sorry that I left, okay? Please, Rich." His voice broke, but he did not cry.

"Okay. Okay." Richie said, forcing himself to be calm as could be. "Don't apologize for that. Let's just - let's sleep." He pressed a kiss against Jon's head, near his hairline, and continued to stroke his back. 

It wasn't until the sun was coming up beyond the horizon, and twenty minutes after Jon's breath finally evened out as he fell asleep, did Richie close his eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what tomorrow will bring. And I don't want to see it.


End file.
